


To the End of the Line

by ohmyfae



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Dadfic, M/M, More characters as they appear, Potential Tifa/Aerith in future, Rated for language and smut in future chapters, Union organizer AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-10-19 22:55:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20665178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: Barret Wallace is a union organizer and activist trying to prevent coal companies from bleeding the mountains dry. Cloud is the new guy, a military vet with an infuriating lack of interest in the world around him, hired on a whim. Together, they might just pull off a miracle—if they don’t kill each other first.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shinra and the Turks are basically the fantasy Pinkertons, here.

At seven, Barret Wallace stood in the warm, cluttered house his mother rented from the coal company and wiped at his face with both hands. He was a skinny kid for his age, nothing like the broad-shouldered goddess that was his mother, who even now cast a shadow over the small kitchen table. A cat lay beneath her, whimpering feebly as she wrapped its stump of a front leg, and Barret took a shaky breath and inched closer to lay a hand on its head. It blinked up at him, too tired to struggle, and it’s remaining front paw flexed, kneading the air.

“I don’t want it to die,” he whispered.

“Oh, baby.” His mother’s voice was hoarse, with the harsh edge of everyone who spent too long underground. She reached over and cupped his cheek, brushing at his tears with a thumb. “Don’t you worry. It ain’t over yet.”

-

When Barret was seventeen, he moved into a new company house of his own, lugging a suitcase and a three-legged cat in both arms. Myrna, her long black hair hanging in thick braids down her back, followed after him with a trash bag in both arms. She had to stop to cough into her shoulder, and Barret froze, clenching his hand on his suitcase.

“We ought’a get that checked,” he said. He thought of his mother hacking blood and phlegm into the sink, the doctors with their hollow eyes and empty promises, the grave that seemed to have waited for her, cordoned off by a coal baron for those workers he didn’t care to save. 

“It ain’t the same,” Myrna said, when she could breathe again. The cat rubbed against her legs, mewling piteously, and Myrna smiled. “Come on, big man. Let’s unpack and check out our new bedroom.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Barret said, but he was too late. Myrna already had her fingers hooked in his shirt, and he followed her, drawn by that wicked smile, the strength in her arms, the thrill of stumbling love-drunk across the boards of a new home.

-

When Barret was thirty-one, he dragged himself through the termite-eaten shack the coal company called his best friend’s home, pushed aside a heap of fallen clothes, and fumbled for the thin, high sound of a child’s wail. He found the girl under a pile of shoes, and cradled her gently in the crook of the only working arm he had left. She was red-faced with tears, her tiny fists clenched in the unspoken rage of all babies who lost their parents too soon, and Barret awkwardly tried to brush her cheeks with his thumb. 

“Don’t worry, Marlene,” he said, as the pop of gunfire rolled through the remains of Corel. The baby stared at him, startled by the low timbre of his voice, and he forced a smile. “It ain’t over yet.”

—

“Come on, boss. Give him a chance.”

Barret looked up from the corner table of the 7th Heaven bar, where his daughter Marlene was painstakingly lining up nail polish bottles according to color and shine. Tifa Lockhart stood before him, trying on her version of the wounded puppy-dog look, which clashed with her cobbled attempt at a work uniform. She wore the heavy rubber dishwashing apron over her workout clothes, but she’d still managed to get suds on her shoes, and her hands were wrinkled and pink with heat. 

“Don’t try that look on me,” Barret said. “Marlene’s been usin’ it for years, now. I’m immune.”

“Bullshit. You let her eat an entire cupcake yesterday.”

“I was very good yesterday,” Marlene said. She uncapped a bottle of toxic pink polish. “Hand, daddy.”

Barret dutifully held out his left hand, and Marlene dabbed polish on his nails, her tongue stuck between her teeth. 

Tifa groaned and sat down on Marlene’s other side, the rubber apron squeaking on the bench. “Look, Barret. I know you’re hurting for help with the union right now.”

“Hand,” Marlene said. Tifa held out her left hand without thinking, and Marlene sloshed pink on her thumb.

“And Cloud’s a friend. An old friend. A veteran.” Tifa winced as Marlene painted her knuckle blue by accident. “And... he might be sitting at the bar right now, ‘cause I told him I had a job for him.”

“Fuck, Tifa!” Tifa shrugged, and Barret leaned back, holding his hand steady on the table while Marlene slowly painted his pinkie with unicorn glitter. There was only one man at the bar—A skinny, wiry guy with gelled hair and the legs of a runner, dressed in black like some kind of actor. “Fine. Guess I don’t call the shots anymore. Send him over, and I’ll see if he’s worth somethin’.”

Tifa beamed. “Thanks, boss. I knew you’d pull through.”

“I ain’t saying I’ll keep him!” Barret called after her, but she was already slithering out of the booth, making a beeline for the stranger. Marlene sighed, bereft of another canvas, and risked a glance at Barret’s prosthetic.

“No, baby,” Barret said. “You know what happened last time.” Getting glitter off the damn thing had been a job and a half, and even so, Barret sparkled for a good week afterwards.

“Hey.”

Barret hardly had to look up to meet the eyes of the new guy. His face was gaunt, hollow, skin pulled taut over high cheekbones. Barret had seen it often enough in the mines, in the faces of the poor saps who sent all their money home and slept on scaffolding, curled up in their filthy work-clothes. Hunger was part of it, sure—Everyone was hungry, out there—but there was something else there, something that lingered in wheezing breaths and blood scrubbed out of the bathroom sink. People who looked like that didn’t last long, not when the insurance companies pulled out the moment they heard it was a coal miner on the other side of the table. 

He wished it was a shock to see it in someone so young, but Barret knew better. “You must be Cloud. Sit down,” he said. “I’ll get us something to eat.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Cloud said. He sat anyways, awkwardly scooting on the edge of the bench near Marlene, who looked him up and down. 

“Wasn’t a question,” Barret said. He eased out of his seat. “Stay put.”

Cloud opened his mouth, brows raised, but Marlene interrupted with, “Yes, daddy.” She pursed her lips and held a palm up to Cloud. “Hand.”

He blinked. “Uh. What?”

“Hand,” Marlene said, with an imperious air. Cloud looked around, almost a little lost, and held up his hand for inspection.

“You’ll look good in blue,” Barret heard Marlene say, as he made his way to the kitchen. “Maybe unicorns, but we’ll have to see.”

Tifa was waiting for him behind the door, her face pressed to the smoky glass. She jumped when he came in, and grabbed a handful of his shirt, dragging him out of view.

“How’s it going?” she whispered. Her gaze darted over his face, searching for a reaction. “Good? Is it good?”

“Slow your roll, kid. I’m just getting something to eat.”

“You’re feeding him!” Tifa followed Barret through the kitchen, his own personal shadow. “That’s promising.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Barret lifted the lid on a pot of chili, and steam filled the air.

“You always keep strays after you feed them,” Tifa said. She got out a loaf of crusty bread and started tearing out chunks. 

“He ain’t a cat,” Barret said. Tifa didn’t listen. She smiled the whole way through setting up a tray, two bowls for the guys, a smaller bowl for Marlene, and practically shoved Barret back out the door. He scowled at her, and she gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Back at the table, Cloud looked like a new, bewildered brand of hostage, sitting with his fingers splayed while Marlene stuck moon and star stickers on his nails. They were a brilliant blue, like his eyes, which were narrowed in a wary smile that transformed his face.

“I got three stars in art class last week,” Marlene said, smashing a sticker on the back of his hand. He winced. “I can draw a chocobo and everything.”

“Really? Maybe you can teach me how.” 

“Sure,” Marlene said airily. “It’s really hard, though.”

“I believe it.”

Barret set down the tray, clattering the bowls, and Cloud’s cheeks flushed as though he were ashamed to be caught with painted nails in front of a guy with a hand the color of the fucking rainbow. It was almost endearing, in a pathetic kind of way.

“Eat first,” Barret said. “Then we talk business.”

Barret found that interviews always went smoother when there was food involved. It made people feel relaxed, informal—And it helped Barret pick out which aspiring union organizer was a company man in disguise, there to stir up trouble. He doubted a friend of Tifa’s would be a plant, but even with his mouth full of bread and his nails glittering with polish, Cloud was surprisingly closed-off.

Was he friends with Tifa? Sure, maybe. When’d they first meet? Dunno. Why’d he leave the military? Got bored. How’d he feel about mountaintop removal? Mountaintop _what?_

“It’s a new thing Shinra corp’s doing,” Barret said. “They blow up half the mountain to get to the coal.”

“That’s good, though,” Cloud said. Marlene gasped into her hands. “I mean, people don’t have to die of black lung or whatever if they just blast the mountain.”

“They’ll die of poison in the river instead,” Barret said. “Cracks in the wells. Slurry dams and toxic—“

“Gods, forget I asked,” Cloud muttered. 

“So why’re you here, then?” Barret said, trying to hold down the frustration in his voice—and failing spectacularly, as always. “Why join up if you don’t give a shit?”

Cloud shrugged. “I need the money.”

Barret directed his glower to the back door, where Tifa was watching nervously, shifting from foot to foot. She clasped her hands together and scrunched up her face in the worst attempt at begging since Marlene tried to bring home a snake from the woods, and Barret shook his head.

“He’s nice, daddy.” That was Marlene, twisting her nail polish bottles around to catch the light. “You should keep him.”

Barret closed his eyes for a breath, gathering his strength. “Fine,” he said. Cloud started, looking from him to Marlene. “You’re hired. But you better not prove my little girl wrong.”

Cloud smiled again, but this time, it was grim and humorless, just a twitch of the lips. “Yeah,” he said, in a dry, inflectionless voice. “No promises.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sheets of rain pounded the Shinra Corp warehouse lot, turning patches of lamplit concrete into a hazy, churning blur. Barret crouched in his grey raincoat, water dripping down his neck, as Cloud hunched next to him, half caked in mud. Cloud showed up to the bar that night wearing the same black shirt and trousers he’d worn the day before, and his tight grip on the bag Barret gave him didn’t hide the tremor in his hands or the way he grit his teeth, refusing to let them chatter. 

“Jessie.” A shadow detached from the darkness behind him, revealing a worried face under at least three layers of hoodies. “You can get the gate?”

“Think so,” Jessie said. She peered into the gloom, gripping her phone in both hands. “There’s a security camera at the top of the fence, but there’s no reception here. Can’t hack into the feed.”

“Got it,” Cloud said. Jessie jumped, her foot slipping in the mud, and Barret unconsciously reached out to grab her. Cloud stood, rolling his shoulders. “I’ll climb up and yank it off.”

“Cover your face first,” Barret hissed. Cloud gave him a long, blank stare before he strode off anyways, his pale face and wrists flashing like beacons in the dark. “Damn it.” 

Cloud was easy to track as he skirted the side of the fence, keeping just out of view of the camera. He braced his feet on the slick concrete around the fence, bounced on his heels once or twice, and launched himself at the fence. Metal clanged and warbled as he pushed himself up the side through sheer momentum alone, and a good portion of it buckled, bending inward. Jessie whistled low, and Barret flapped a hand to shush her. Cloud twisted the camera around, aiming it away from the gates, and went rolling off the side of the fence and into the warehouse yard.

“I’ll kill him,” Barret said. “Alright, guys, change of plans. We’re goin’ in now.”

They didn’t bother to hide, not with Cloud probably tripping every alarm in the goddamned countryside. Barret examined the top of the fence while Jessie took pliers to the lock—The top of the fence was spiked, a thousand needle-like spears ready to rip any enterprising thief to shreds. He wondered how fucked-up Cloud’s hands were.

Cloud was already at the warehouse doors by the time they opened the gate, fumbling with the lock. His hands really were shaking this time, and Barret shoved him out of the way so Jessie could do her magic.

“Thought you grew up here,” Barret said, as Jessie got to work on the chain. “You ever heard of a coat before?”

Cloud rolled his eyes, and Barret turned aside. Probably thought he looked nicer in black, Barret assumed, as the chain snapped and slithered to the ground. Barret helped Jessie wrench the warehouse doors open, and all thoughts of the shivering, reckless punk disappeared at the sight of row upon row of heavy equipment, new and gleaming in the dim glow of the outdoor lights.

“Look at that. They’re beautiful.” Barret smiled into the dark. “Let’s fuck ‘em up.”

—

Marlene sat on the top of the bar with her legs dangling, watching her daddy pour drinks for his friends. She couldn’t remember not living at the bar—she did her homework at the corner table and read books with Tifa in the kitchen, even learned to walk on the worn wooden boards of the barroom floor, and there wasn’t a single place in the entire building where she hadn’t staged a play with her dolls. Daddy liked to call her a princess sometimes, but she thought she was probably more than that, here. The bar was hers, and so were it’s people.

Which was why she didn’t like the way Cloud left a few minutes before, leaving her daddy blustering and furious. He’d been holding his hands funny, and he wasn’t wearing a raincoat, even though it was pouring outside and everyone else had coats hanging up on the rack.

His clothes were dirty, too. She wondered if anyone else noticed.

Slowly, making sure her daddy could see her, Marlene slipped off the top of the bar and onto the floor. Her daddy came over to pick her up again, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Wanna go to bed,” she said. He laughed softly, just for her, a low rumble in his chest.

He carried her up the rickety stairs to their apartment, where Marlene’s bed was surrounded by her court of stuffed animals and dolls, and tucked her into her thick quilt. His big hand was soft in her hair, and she giggled at the tickle of stubble when he kissed her forehead.

“Night, baby.”

“Night,” Marlene said. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s wrong with Cloud?”

Her daddy’s face twisted a little. “Nothin. Just a bad attitude.”

Marlene frowned and snuggled into her covers. Her daddy kissed her one more time, then left, turning out the light as he closed the door.

Marlene waited for three breathless seconds before she ran for the window.

Cloud couldn’t have gone far in the rain, she figured, as she jimmied open the screen and let it go clattering down the roof. He probably had to stop somewhere—Marlene would, anyways—and it was pretty hard to see if you weren’t used to the neighborhood. Marlene thumped down to the pile of leftover canvas from one of her dad’s side projects, hugging her favorite coat close, and rolled in the brittle grass. 

Beyond the warm lights of the bar, the back alleys of her home loomed dark and narrow, the mouths of a dozen starving monsters gaping wide.

Marlene squeezed her coat, took a shaky breath, and pattered off into the second alley. It was warmer there, the houses had stairs outside to block off the rain, and sometimes cats came through on their way to beg at the back door. Marlene wondered if any were sleeping in the bushes, and started lifting big fronds of ferns next to the wall, searching for kittens. Rain poured down her hair and into the neck of her pajamas, but she didn’t mind, not when the street lights started to dim and she ducked down, clicking her tongue. If she found a kitten, maybe her daddy would let her keep it. Then she’d name it Princess, or Sunshine, or Madame Monster Truck, and she’d feed it all the vegetables she didn’t like and tell it all her secrets—

“Holy shit.”

Marlene screamed. A shadow rose from the bushes under an escape ladder, and Marlene froze as it took the shape of a man, blocking off the flickering street light. The man leaned towards her, and Marlene screamed again, her voice echoing off the walls.

“Fuck. Shit, calm down,” the man said. She knew that voice from somewhere. Marlene trembled as a damp hand reached for her shoulder. “It’s fine. It’s me. Cloud. Are you lost? You... need me to take you home?”

Marlene looked up at Cloud standing alone in the rain, his face pale and his clothes filthy with mud and leaf stains, opened her mouth to say she was supposed to be looking for _him, _and burst into tears.

—

The front door of the 7th Heaven bar was supposed to be locked after hours, which meant when Cloud showed up with a sobbing Marlene in his arms, he came in through the window. Barret was comfortably buzzed, the frustration at Cloud’s departure—_Just pay me and let me go, I don’t give a shit about who does what with a fucking mountain_—simmering to a low boil. So when a boot cracked open the window on the other side of the bar, letting in a torrent of rain, it took Barret a second to drag himself out of the booth.

“The hell—“ His voice died on his tongue as Cloud slithered onto the floor, holding a damp, howling Marlene on one arm. He looked a little dazed, his gelled hair hanging limp around his ears and in his eyes, and his grip around Marlene was tight as a vise.

“Think you lost someone,” he said, rainwater pooling around his boots. Biggs cursed and scrambled to shut the window, but Cloud just stood there, swaying slightly, his unnerving blue eyes unfocused and vague.

Barret strode to Marlene, who reached for him with both arms, and dragged her out of Cloud’s grip. Cloud nearly stumbled, and he blinked hard as Marlene sobbed in Barret’s shoulder.

“The fuck were you doing with her,” Barret said. His own voice sounded strange in the hushed silence of the bar, cold and detached. Cloud raised a shoulder.

“Taking her home. Found her looking for a cat or something.”

“A cat—Marlene—“ Marlene babbled into his shirt, but it was sobbing, incoherent nonsense. “Fine. Right. Okay.”

Cloud shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, well. Anyways.” He turned on a heel, but Marlene’s frantic scream made both Barret and Cloud flinch.

“Baby,” Barret said. “Easy on the ears.”

“Don’t want him to go!” Marlene cried. Cloud looked at Barret with no small measure of alarm, and Barret grimaced. Tantrums he could handle, but this was a full-on meltdown, and getting rid of Cloud now would just make it worse.

“Might as well get dry upstairs while you’re here,” Barret said. “Til she gets to sleep,” he mouthed, and Cloud nodded slowly, brows lowered. 

They left a trail of mud and rain up the stairs, which Barret quietly swore he’d make Cloud clean up in the morning. Barret ran a bath for Marlene, and Cloud slumped in the hallway, holding his arms in a tight grip. Barret tossed him a towel, but Cloud just stared at it, uncomprehending.

“Clothes are too wet anyways,” he said.

“Then wear somethin’ of mine,” Barret said. Cloud’s lips twitched, and Barret held back a grin. “If it won’t fall off you. Bedroom’s behind you.”

Cloud pushed himself to his feet. His legs shook—Not enough meat on those bones, Barret thought—and he fumbled with the handle before he got it right. He started stripping off his ruined shirt before the door swung halfway closed, and Barret caught a glimpse of old scars trailing up his back, long lines criss-crossing his shoulders.

“Daddy.” Barret turned back to Marlene, who was standing on the fluffy bath mat. “I’m ready.”

“Ready to be grounded til you’re eighteen,” Barret muttered, and Marlene gasped. “Don’t play shocked, kid. You know you can’t sneak out. It’s dangerous. You coulda died.”

Marlene sighed gustily as Barret wrapped her up in a towel, and Barret twisted around for one last look. Cloud was standing beyond the door, back to the hallway, a towel in his hair. His body was all muscle, lean and honed, and he crouched on his heels to get to Barret’s dresser, digging through his clothes.

Barret turned away.

“Alright,” he said, forcing an edge of gruffness to his voice. “You’re going to bed for real this time, and I’m gonna put bars on that window if you try it again.”

Marlene was too exhausted to do more than whine. The floor under her window was ruined by rain, but Barret managed to lock it properly, and she was knocked out by the time he turned around, her arms splayed out on either side of her bed. He tucked her in properly, and she scrunched her eyes, rolling to her side.

“Weird kid,” Cloud said. Barret looked up to find him in a pair of sweatpants too large for his waist, his chest bare and still gleaming with rain. His hair was a mess, fluffed about his ears in an unruly tangle, but his eyes had lost their vague haze, and he was watching Barret keenly. “Reminds me a little of Tifa.”

“She’s been rubbin’ off on her,” Barret said. He got up, leaving the door open just a crack. “Didn’t thank you for bringin’ her home.”

“No,” Cloud said. “You didn’t. And I don’t need it.” He ran a hand through his hair, scattering drops over his shoulders. “So if she’s out for the count, I’ll just go home.”

“Too late for that,” Barret said. Cloud raised his brows. “Stick around tonight. We got couches next door. It ain’t charity,” he added, as Cloud’s expression darkened. “More like common sense. I’ll be puttin’ you to work bright and early tomorrow.”

“Great,” Cloud drawled, and for the first time, Barret caught the barest hint of Tifa’s accent in his voice. “Can’t wait.”

“Yeah, your enthusiasm keeps the rest of us fucking inspired,” Barret said. Cloud actually smiled at that, and his face transformed, looking suddenly younger, brighter, less reserved. Then the bored, disinterested look took over again, and he gave Barret a lazy salute.

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Yeah, yeah, at ease, soldier.”

Cloud’s shoulders tensed, and his mouth thinned, teeth pinching his lips before letting them drag out again. 

“Right,” he said, and turned away, slouching down the darkened hall. “See you tomorrow.”


	3. Chapter 3

“The hell is this?”

Cloud stood in the doorway of the Midgar Coal Worker’s Union offices and stared at the mess of paperwork teetering in the rusting in-box. There were cardboard file boxes everywhere, and a narrow path had been carved to the desk, where a broken chair was propped up on crates and surrounded by stacks of supplies.

“It’s your new home,” Barret said, unable to restrain a slight smile. “You said you didn’t care so long as you got a paycheck, right?”

“Yeah, but I thought we’d be doing shit like... like last night, or—“

Barret clapped Cloud on the back, and he rocked forward. He was wearing new clothes from the donation bin, but his hair was still unstyled, poofing about his ears. “That’s why we need to seem respectable today. We’re probably gonna get a visit from Shinra’s bully boys, tryin’ to figure out who fucked up their equipment, so we’re gonna be model fucking citizens. Requests for medical help go here,” he added, pointing to a bin. “Retaliation goes here, and workplace safety here. When they’re full, send ‘em up to me.”

“You handle all this?” Cloud said, in a slightly dazed voice.

“Bald Rock Mine’s striking,” Barret said. “So we do what we can. We’ll be visiting the picket line tomorrow, so you’re on lunch duty when you’re done with this. Sandwiches,” he added, when Cloud gave him another blank look. “For the kids.”

“I _could_ do security,” Cloud said. “I have experience.”

“Yeah, I’m sure, but they’ll open fire if they see weapons on the picket line, and what I need is this paperwork filed away.” He lowered his voice, catching Cloud’s gaze with his own. “You want a paycheck? You work for it.”

Cloud’s cheeks colored, and he stepped into the safety of the office. “Sure,” he said. “Whatever you say, boss.”

The door clicked shut in Barret’s face, and Barret sighed into his hand. 

He stamped downstairs into the bar just as the door opened with a rush of cool air, framing a bulky silhouette against the pale blue sky. The silhouette took the shape of Tifa, laden with two bags of groceries, a bag of supplies from the accessory store Marlene liked, and an armful of loose flowers. Chrysanthemums bobbed in her hair. Daisies tickled her chin. Fat carnations bounced as she shuffled out of Marlene’s way, and baby’s breath scraped along her cheek, spilling white petals.

“Tifa,” Barret said.

Tifa’s face twisted in agony. “I know. I know. There was just this new flower cart by the grocery store, and, uh, I thought... we could... give some to the... workers?”

“The shop lady squeezed Tifa’s arm and smiled at her,” Marlene said, climbing onto the bar stool. The latest part-time bartender grinned as she carefully clipped chunky plastic pearls on her ears. 

“Marlene!”

“So long as that’s comin’ out of your own paycheck,” Barret said. Tifa moaned and plopped the flowers on a table, and Barret eased the groceries off her arm. He left her there, her red face drowned in colorful blooms, and started putting away the sandwich supplies. 

By the time he came back, the few bar patrons who remained were divvying up flowers, stuffing them in empty beer bottles, and shoving them under windows. The bartender went around with Marlene, pouring water into the makeshift vases with all the air of a scientist engaging in a new and dangerous experiment. Marlene watched with rapt attention, tugging at her fake pearls.

“I’m gonna give some to Cloud,” she said, when the last vase was filled. Tifa smiled into her hands as Marlene ran off, holding a bottle full of yellow flowers in her arms.

Barret eased halfway up the stairs to listen in as Marlene slammed open the office door.

“Fuck _me!” _Cloud’s voice was strangled in shock, and Marlene’s hysterical laugh warbled down the stairs. “Uh. Thanks. I guess.”

“I got you this one cause it’s yellow like your hair,” Marlene said. Her voice lowered, and Barret eased up another step. “D’you like it?”

“Yeah.” Cloud’s voice was soft. “Yeah, I like it a lot.”

Barret retreated down the stairs before Marlene could bound out of the office, beating a quick retreat to his own haphazard study. He kept the union dues in a safe downstairs, which were starting to dwindle now that the strike was going into its third week, and he had a feeling he’d have to start dipping into the bar profits to compensate.

He was about an hour into approving an endless string of requests for aid when Cloud tromped downstairs, his heavy boots thunderous in the small basement. He carried a box in both arms, and his hair had been carefully re-made into something like it had been that first night, all punk spikes and gelled bangs, but there was a flower stuck behind his ear that he probably forgot to put away. He dropped the box at Barret’s feet and stood there, his brows furrowed, sucking at his cheek.

“Speak up or get out,” Barret said, turning back to his paperwork.

Cloud’s neck flushed a mottled red. “Lots of sick people on Bald Rock,” he said.

“Yeah. It’s called black lung,” Barret said, eyeing Cloud sidelong. “Not enough working masks to go around.”

Cloud rocked back on a heel. “Maybe. Uh. But. That many at once?”

“We negotiated for a better healthcare plan in spring,” Barret said. “So yeah.”

Cloud rubbed the back of his neck, lips parted. For the first time since he’d signed on, he actually looked _concerned_ about something, which made Barret set down his pen and turn towards him. He reached for his prosthetic and idly touched the sore skin around the joint, regarding Cloud carefully.

“Cloud,” he said. “Tifa said you used to—“

The basement door slammed open, and Cloud whirled, his shoulders squared, feet braced in a defensive stance. Tifa clattered down a few steps, still holding the door open, and the look on her face was all Barret needed to push himself out of his seat.

“Shinra finally showed,” he growled, and Cloud backed off, following at his heels as he trudged up the steps. Barret could hear voices above, the shuffle of feet, and a low, bored drawl he hadn’t heard before.

Behind him, Cloud stopped at the base of the stairs, one hand on the rail.

Barret didn’t bother to check if he was still following when he emerged from the basement. He closed the door to find Tifa dragging Marlene behind her as four men in pristine black suits walked through the bar, their smiles wolflike. He recognized most of them—Turks, they called themselves, hired thugs who claimed to be detectives keeping the peace—but at their head stood a man he hadn’t seen before, dressed in black army fatigues and an officer’s coat that hung just above his knees. He held no weapon, but the blackjacks in the other men’s hands gleamed in the light, and Barret could see the outline of holsters under their jackets.

The man at the front of the group pushed long, silver hair over his shoulder and raised his brows.

“Ah,” he said. His laugh was deep, almost pleasant, as though he were letting the rest of the bar in on a private joke. “What a _challenge_.”

“You know you little shits aren’t welcome here,” Barret said, but the man barely spared him a glance. He sat at the bar, folding his arms on the countertop, and raised a finger.

“I’m only here for a drink. Is there any halfway decent whiskey here?”

One of his men stepped forward, and Tifa backed up, blocking Marlene into a booth. Marlene ducked behind her legs, her little pink dress pale in the shadows. Barret moved to intercept, but the Turk was already at the bar, reaching for a bottle of whiskey. He set it on the counter and whipped out his blackjack, making the bartender press herself against the wall.

“Halfway decent was right,” the man in the coat said, pouring himself a glass. “Go on, Reno.”

Reno walked along the wall, smashing hundreds of dollars worth of alcohol onto the ground as the man knocked back his drink.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” he said, as Barret surged forward. Tifa grabbed his arm, and the man raised the glass to the light. “Seeing your livelihood go up in... well. Not smoke, exactly. Not yet.” He turned on his stool, smiling faintly, but his eyes were foggy and vague. It was the same look Cloud had the night before, Barret realized, but truer, somehow. The man might have been playing at bemusement, but his eyes were blank as glass marbles, and fear wormed it’s way in Barret’s heart, paralyzing him.

“The fuck...” he cleared his throat. “The fuck d’you think you’re doing, comin’ in here—“

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” the man said. “And so do you. Or I hope so. I prefer not to suffer fools.” He set down the glass and slid to his feet, moving with the sinuous grace of a snake. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the people who broke into the Shinra corp warehouses last night?” 

“Not a thing,” Barret said. He watched alcohol ooze across the wooden boards of the bar. It took every ounce of will not to wring the man’s neck then and there, but he knew he’d be signing the death warrant of every person in the bar—Including Marlene, who watched him from under the table, her eyes wide. “You’re fucking with the wrong people.”

“Mm.” The man rolled his shoulders, laughing softly to himself, and gestured sharply. The Turks closed ranks, and he tread the boards slowly, with even, measured strides.

“We’ll need to look into this further,” he said, without even looking back at Barret as he passed. “At your leisure.”

Barret didn’t even wait for the door to slam shut. He picked up Marlene from under the table and held her to his side, wishing he had another working hand to flip the Turks off as they stepped into their sleek black cars outside. Tifa and the bartender slowly started to push aside the broken glass, and Barret scanned the room, chest heaving.

“The fuck did Cloud go?” His voice boomed in the bar, and the bartender flinched as she pulled down a mop. “Who fucking hides when the Turks show up?”

“Daddy, you’re too loud,” Marlene whispered. “The bad guys are gone.”

“They’ll be more than gone when I get to them,” Barret said, and Marlene hugged his arm, her mouth pinched tight. “Where’s last night’s big hero, huh?”

He saw the door to the basement was open a crack, and carefully set Marlene down. “Stay with Tifa,” he warned. She nodded and raced over to Tifa, clinging to her suspenders. Barret squared his shoulders and shoved open the door.

Cloud went stumbling down a step, thrown off guard, and Barret grabbed a handful of his shirt and walked him the rest of the way. His feet didn’t fumble on the steps, easily keeping up with Barret, and he grabbed Barret’s hand and yanked back on his fingers.

“Fuck,” Barret hissed, twitching his hand away. “What were you doing back there? You don’t hide while the Turks are casing the joint.”

“Get _off_ me.” Cloud wrenched away. He was breathing hard, and his eyes were overbright. “Trust me, you wouldn’t want me up there.”

“Why not? Thought you could do security. Thought Tifa said you were some kind of hotshot in the military. So what? Can’t handle a little—“

“Because he knows me.” Cloud grabbed Barret, pulling him close. He was surprisingly strong, Barret realized, as he held onto the wall to keep from stumbling into it. The muscles of his arms were barely straining, but he held onto Barret like his grip was made of steel. Barret leaned over him, eclipsing the light, and Cloud’s face seemed somehow thinner in his shadow, as wan and malevolent as the man at the bar. 

“The guy who wrecked your bar,” Cloud said, in a hushed, fierce whisper. “Sephiroth. He _knows_ me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Cloud sat against the wall of the cluttered basement, head tilted listlessly in the gloom. Barret took the chair, which was propped up before Cloud, and he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

“Alright,” he said. “Talk.”

“You know Nibelheim?”

“The town? Sure. Tifa grew up there.” That was about as much as Barret knew. Tifa didn’t talk much about her life before she moved to Midgar, but he always assumed that was fair enough—_he_ never talked about _his._ “You too, I guess.”

“Sort of.” Cloud shrugged. “I left pretty young. Signed up with a... sort of contractor with the military. You know how some corporations have their own special forces? Like mercenaries?” It was Barret’s turn to shrug. Half the kids who didn’t end up in the mines left for the military, and contractors were always recruiting, picking off the poor and desperate. “I worked for a branch of Shinra Corp. Not the Turks,” he added, when Barret’s eyes narrowed. “They called us soldiers. Sephiroth was there, too. Top of his class. Like me.” 

He stretched out his arms, keeping his gaze fixed on his fingers. It was that blank look again, with no sign of emotion behind it, and Cloud’s voice was equally hollow. It was like listening to a recording in a hall of wax figures, and Barret forced himself not to shudder at the thought.

“Sephiroth had special training, though. Usually, when you’re trained for war, they just want you to be able to shoot the enemy full of holes and go home without being too fucked-up about it, but Sephiroth _liked_ killing. It was... manageable, at first, but in Nibelheim, he sort of. Locked himself away for a while, and. Maybe something broke in him. Whatever it was that stopped him from killing for the sake of it, it was gone when he came back out.” He sucked in a short breath. “Thought I killed him. When it was over, and the town... there was a kid with us. Fifteen, maybe sixteen years old. Had family there. Sephiroth killed his—“

He stopped, rubbing a hand over his face.

“You don’t gotta continue,” Barret said. “I get it.”

“You don’t,” Cloud said. “If Sephiroth’s been hired to take you out, you might as well pack up and leave now. He doesn’t give a shit who you are. He doesn’t care who he kills. Maybe he was human once, but Shinra dragged that out of him a long time ago. And if he lived after I...” He touched his chest just below his sternum, and breathed in, knuckles white. “When I pushed him over the... down the mountain... Shinra came for us. Me and the kid. Blamed us for the massacre, said they needed to find another Sephiroth—_make_ another Sephiroth. Tried to turn us into him.”

“How the hell would they—“

“Oh, you know,” Cloud said, and some of the emptiness bled from his eyes, making way for a wild, almost feral glint that made Barret draw back. “Gotta get used to pain if you’re gonna get off to it, I guess.”

“You ain’t sayin’ they...” Barret stopped at the sound of a board creaking overhead. Tifa stood at the top of the stairs, one hand on the railing, watching Cloud with a strange, unreadable expression in her eyes. Barret flapped a hand at her, but she remained still, frozen on the steps.

“We were there for years. Four, maybe five. Tried to talk the kid through it,” Cloud said. He hunched his shoulders. “It’s easier when you can focus on someone else, you know? And he was just. Just a kid. Didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

“He make it out?” Barret asked. Cloud furrowed his brows, staring at a stain on the floor.

“Almost. We got out together, but he... died outside. Couldn’t save him.” He let out a long breath, and Tifa made a soft sound in the back of her throat. He didn’t seem to notice. “The shit they did to try and recreate what Sephiroth was supposed to be... I could take it. Did take it. He couldn’t. Can’t expect some kid to survive something like that, not when Sephiroth killed his mother, his friend’s dad—practically killed _him._” His hand on his chest pushed down, and he winced slightly. “Anyways. That’s. That’s what Sephiroth is. Someone who could go through that shit and come out liking it. And I’m the one who tried to kill him for it, so if he saw me at the bar, none of you would’ve made it out alive.”

Barret rubbed at his prosthetic, running his fingers over the ridged lumps of his false hand. The door to the basement slammed shut, and Cloud jumped a little, startled to sudden, bright-eyed awareness. 

“Can’t say I know what that’s like,” Barret said, and Cloud looked up at him, tensed like a coil before the spring. “But I lost someone too, a few years back. We were striking in Corel, and Marlene’s mama shot one of the coal company toughs when he broke into her house. Shinra sent out troops to _pacify _us.” 

“Fuck,” Cloud whispered. “I never—“

“Probably wasn’t you,” Barret said. “If you’ve been out for that long. But I lost my hand, Marlene’s parents... my wife. I get what it does to you.”

Cloud was silent for a moment. “Didn’t know you were married. I mean, with Marlene, I guess you’d assume, but—Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Sometimes I forget,” Barret said. “I roll over and think she’s gonna be there, writing, tuning that stupid guitar she couldn’t play for shit. Watchin’ me sleep. Sometimes I can still feel Marlene’s daddy reachin’ for my hand.” He held his prosthetic, pulling it up and onto his knees. Cloud slowly let his hand drop from his chest.

“I talk to him sometimes,” he said, in a quiet voice.

“We do what we can to keep going.” Barret scooted back in his chair, getting to his feet. “You need a minute? Could still use your help with lunches now that the bar’s worth shit.”

Cloud tried to push himself off the wall, and Barret extended his hand. Cloud looked at it for a long moment, his eyes dark, and carefully slid his hand in Barret’s. His fingers were calloused, and his grip was firm as Barret yanked him to his feet.

“Thanks,” Cloud said. Barret had a feeling it wasn’t for the hand-up.

“No problem.” Barret turned away, giving him time to compose himself, and ascended the stairs. “Any time.”

The bar was still a wreck when they came back up, and Barret got sidetracked calming the bartender down from a case of hysterics in the corner. He couldn’t keep his mind off Cloud, though, even as he dug through their stores to restock as much of the liquor cabinet as possible, even as he picked glass off the floor and ran up and downstairs for new soap and mop heads. Finally, as he was scrubbing down tables with Tifa, he got around to asking the question that had been pushing at his mind for a good half hour.

“He’s nineteen,” Tifa said, not meeting Barret’s eyes. “A year older than me.”

Barret frowned. “Then when’d he join the military? Twelve?”

Tifa opened her mouth to answer, then shut it again. 

“Tifa. He said there was a massacre. Were you—“

“Yeah.” Tifa pushed at her rag. “Yeah, I was there. That was right. Everything he said was... right.” Her mouth twisted, and she closed her eyes. “Barret. I think—“

“You’re doing it wrong!”

Barret glanced up. Senses honed through four years of managing temper tantrums flared, and he abandoned Tifa at the table. He turned the corner to the kitchen to find Cloud standing at the counter, holding a pan high in the air. Marlene stood under him, hands in fists at her hips, her ribbons trembling with righteous indignation.

“You didn’t even salt it!”

“That’s how you do chicken,” Cloud said, grinning. “First you slap it on the stove—“

“With _salt!_”

“Then you _boil_ it—“

Marlene covered her mouth in horror.

“Then you take the slimy skin off and shove it in a sandwich—“

“No!” 

“And when you’re done, you boil some green peppers and—“

“You’re _hopeless!_” Marlene cried. “Put it down and I’ll _show_ you!”

Cloud grinned, setting the pan back on the stove. “Thought you didn’t wanna help.”

Marlene glowered at him and dragged a step stool over from the dishwasher. “Salt,” she said, imperiously.

“Yes, your majesty.”

“And _garlic._ And the red stuff.” Marlene pulled an armful of spices from the cabinet, glaring at Cloud with each one she passed down. He nodded sagely and added a dash of each to the chicken.

“You know,” he said. “That guy from before, with the silver hair? I bet he boils his chicken all the time.”

“Gross,” Marlene said, handing him the pepper.

“I bet he boils his _fish._ He sure smelled like it, didn’t he?” He lowered his voice, leaning in close. “I heard a rumor that he’s just a bunch of nasty dead fish in a suit. That’s why his hair’s so white.”

“Ew!” Marlene scrunched up her face. “I bet he’s snakes. Snakes are worse.”

“Oh yeah, snakes suck ass.” Cloud caught Barret’s eye and winked. “Ssstupid Sssssephiroth.”

“Ssssuckssssss assssss,” Marlene said, and laughed. 

“I didn’t know you talked snake,” Cloud said. Barret stepped forward, and Cloud shifted, making room.

“It’ssss easssssy.” Marlene looked up at Barret and smiled. “Hey, Daddy. I’m teaching Cloud how to cook.”

“And how to talk snake,” Cloud added. Marlene hissed at him, and he hissed back.

“That’s my girl.” Barret shoved into Cloud’s space, wrapping his good hand around Cloud’s. “I’ll take the chicken if you slice the bread.”

“I’d better help him,” Marlene said, hopping down from her step stool. “He’s _useless_, Daddy.”

Cloud slowly slid his hand out from under Barret’s. Cloud’s eyes were dark in Barret’s shadow, and when he ducked under his arm, he just brushed the top of Barret’s belt with his fingers.

“Right,” Barret said. “I see that.”

Cloud hid a smile as he turned to Marlene, who dug through the cutlery drawer with both hands. 

“Okay,” she said, turning to Cloud with the air of a long-suffering teacher. “This... Is a knife.”

The edge of a cleaver shone in the fluorescent light. 

Both Barret and Cloud choked on a curse and lurched for her at the same time, scattering plates all over the kitchen floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barret: What do you have?  
Marlene: A KNIFE  
Barret: NO


End file.
